I Am Not My Child’s Savior

I Am Not My Child's Savior

I am not my child’s savior.

This thought occurred to me yesterday as I walked around our neighborhood. Pondering the fact that our daughter’s team, playing in a tournament an hour away, was not doing well, left me unsettled.

First game was a bust. Second game they knocked two in the goal in the first ten minutes, but let their lead slip away into a tie game. Those two games meant advancing was impossible, regardless of the outcome of the final game. Our daughter walked away from the second game in tears.

Nothing is more important to her right now than this sport. All her future hopes are wrapped up in this. And while we both know that the hold on her heart is too strong, I remind myself it is not my job to make sure her dream doesn’t die. It’s not my job to make it all better. All my unsettledness was because I could. not. fix it.

Oh, but that’s what I want to do. Take away the pain. Erase the loss and disappointment. We all want that. We want wins, and good grades, and close friends, and safety. Eliminate everything that could hurt our kids.

So I set myself up in the position of savior in her heart.

Why We Try to Save

It’s heady stuff to have a person who thinks you can do anything. We slip into the superman complex because it makes us feel good about ourselves that we can be the rescuer, the savior, the protector.

Maybe if we just stay close enough, say the right words, step in at just the right moments, we can fend off disasters. We believe the lie that we can control their worlds.

It feels right. It feels like love, to protect others from pain. But then I look at God and His word and I remember that the path to maturity always involves suffering. It makes us like Him.

Ultimately, apart from putting way too much pressure on ourselves to be more to them than we can be, saving our kids takes away the opportunity for them to look to the real Savior, to learn to rely on Him and receive from Him what they need in times of struggle.

Why We Shouldn’t Save

Being away from my daughter this weekend was hard, but so good for her. She needs me to get out of the way so that she can learn to lean on the One who is always there, who knows the value of failure, loss, loneliness, and pain to mold a heart into His image, and whose wise hands guide her in ways I never could.

We do our people a disservice when we don’t encourage them to turn to Him in times of fear, hurt, discouragement. Our lives are meant to be lived in dependence on Him. Pain is a pathway to that dependence.

“It helps to resign as the controller of your fate. All that energy we expend to keep things running right is not what’s keeping things running right.” Anne Lamott, Bird by Bird

All that energy we spend trying to keep others’ lives running right is not what keeping things running right for them. In fact, it might just be what keeps them from Him.

So let’s resign as the controllers, the rescuers, the saviors of our children. Let’s trust the true Savior and teach our children to look to Him in times of trial.

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To the Mother of a Special Needs Child

To the Mother of a Special Needs Child
photo by Jon Flobrant on Unsplash

To the mother with a special needs daughter next to me on the plane:

I don’t know what brought you and your daughter from the back of plane to sit next to me on that late flight from Chicago to Orlando. I hope it wasn’t that someone was displeased by your presence; your daughter did so well on that flight. I’m sure you had no idea all the thoughts and emotions that observing the two of your raised for me:

I hoped that the flight wasn’t too disturbing for your daughter. I know that can stir a lot of anxiety for someone who is challenged.

I prayed she would feel ok and not be nervous. I prayed you would have patience and strength to do this journey.

I wondered if you were taking her to Disney, and I imagined her childlike wonder and joy if you do.

I thought about how this has been your life for a few decades, watching her, keeping her happy, caring for her most basic needs.

I loved watching her care for her baby doll.

I wondered how I could help her be at ease – if she would appreciate interaction, or if the attention of a stranger would disquiet her.

But mostly, if I could have sat next to you, I would have wanted you to know simply that I saw you.

I saw you patiently making sure her legs didn’t drift back into the aisle where they might be bumped. I saw you point out pictures in the magazine to hold her attention. I saw you when you had to speak for her to the flight attendant, knowing that must happen day after day, you communicating for her. I saw when you recognized that she was getting agitated, and you knew she needed her baby to calm her down.

I saw that you are a good mother. I know most people don’t give much thought to what it means for you to love and care for her day in and day out. I’m sure I don’t know the half of it, but I want you to know that there are people who see you, and want to support and help you in what you do. I hope you know that. I hope you have those people, people who can offer much more than just a prayer and a smile on a late night plane. You are seen. 

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Promises to My Children

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